


Worth It

by dornfelder



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We'll never talk of this again.”</p><p>“I don't know,” Merlin says, aiming for a light, teasing tone and failing woefully. It sounds pleading rather than cheeky. “Can't we go back to the kissing? I really liked that part.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> written and posted ages ago at kinkme_merlin

Their first time is a disaster. In retrospect, Merlin should have known. It's not as if he's really had a chance to know, though, because the whole thing takes him by surprise.

He can with utter sincerity claim he's never considered sleeping with another man before. Truth be told, he's done a lot of things for the first time since he's met Arthur and grudgingly become his manservant. Things like killing evil sorceresses or talking to dragons (and telling them to leave Camelot the fuck _alone_ ). In most of these situations, he didn't have a clue what to do or how to do it, and when he ends up in bed with Arthur after all, it's exactly the same. Because, really, Merlin's not naive or innocent enough not to know what is supposed to happen, but that doesn't give him an idea about how to approach the subject in practice.

Predictably, it ends with the two of them on Arthur's bed, horny and desperate and with absolutely no idea how to make it work.

Merlin's still trying to reconstruct how he got himself in this predicament. He isn't sure, but it's quite possible his brain stopped working altogether between the two of them starting to kiss and the first piece of clothes landing on the floor next to the bed. Arthur's luxurious, enormous bed, on which Merlin currently finds himself on all fours, clenching his hands in the pillow while Arthur is trying to stick his cock up his arse.

In comparison, Arthur's cock never seemed particularly large or threatening before – although Merlin never really paid lots of attention to it before, and why should he have? It's not like he's ever expected something like this to occur - but now it appears _huge,_ trying to invade Merlin's body with a forceful persistence that feels like Arthur's _fighting_ his way in, determined and rather hostile.

They're both panting. Arthur's holding on to him with a tight, bruising grip on his hips, the blunt pressure of his dick an unpleasant sensation at Merlin's hole. Merlin is convinced by now his arse isn't meant for sticking anything up there, much less another man's penis, but he's also pretty sure it's not the right moment to express his opinion on that matter. Not with Arthur almost whining behind him, muttering curses under his breath.

“Come on, come on, Merlin,” and “Let me, just let me,” and really, Merlin would let him, if only he knew how.

 _This,_ Merlin thinks, dangerously close to hysteric giggles, _this was an incredibly bad idea._ Though he vaguely remembers a moment or two where it seemed in fact like an alluring prospect.

As much as he'd like to turn back time, the only way out of this now seems to be going through, only that he's quite certain going through with it will mean a hell lot of pain. Telling Arthur he's changed his mind, on the other hand, appears terribly rude, and Merlin winces at the thought.

Merlin grits his teeth and braces his arms against the headboard, taking a deep breath, preparing to still any kind of pained noise with his own fist, and pushes back.

The moment his cock slides past the ring of muscles, Arthur moans, deep and low in his throat. Merlin feels like he's ripped apart, the pain excruciating, like nothing he's felt before. He hisses and tries to get away by instinct, pulling away from Arthur, but Arthur's still clutching him tightly, following his movement and pushing him against the headboard. His cocks slides in deeper, and Merlin can't suppress a cry of pain, his eyes watering.

“No,” he gasps. “No, stop -”

Arthur stills, not moving, thank Gods, but still inside of him, and Merlin tries to get up and scramble away.

“Out,” he says, voice hoarse. “Out -” He puts a hand on Arthur's hip, pushing from an awkward angle.

Arthur obliges, his cock sliding from Merlin's arse. Merlin groans with pain.

“You're – are you?...” Arthur puts a careful hand on his back, and Merlin involuntarily flinches.

Arthur flinches at that, too, and abruptly draws his hand back. Merlin cringes when he realises how this must look like to Arthur. He turns around, hissing when the burning ache in his arse sends sparks all along his spine, and faces Arthur, who's kneeling behind him on the bed, flushed and still breathing hard.

“What do you -” Arthur starts, only to fall silent again, staring at Merlin.

“It _hurt_ ,” Merlin says, voice hoarse and pathetically small.

Arthur's face changes rapidly, a quick succession of emotions, from exasperation and wounded pride to understanding, shame, utter devastation, showing only so fleetingly that anybody who doesn't know him as well as Merlin does wouldn't even notice. At last, his expression turns stoic and vacant, a carefully-schooled look Merlin knows intimately from the many occasions Arthur tries to hide his feelings from everyone behind a cool mask of indifference.

For a long moment they look at each other, at a loss for words.

Then Arthur's hand comes up to touch Merlin's cheek, brushing away a streak of moisture – sweat? Tears? Merlin doesn't know. Arthur lets his hand drop a moment later, shrugging, helplessly admitting defeat.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur says, awkwardly, blankly. He avoids Merlin's gaze.

It's not often that Merlin is offered an apology by his prattish prince. It's not often that Arthur apologises to anyone at all. Merlin doesn't know what to say. It's not Arthur's fault; somewhere along the way, things went awry, no idea why.

“I'm sorry, too,” Merlin admits, quietly. “But I couldn't – it didn't work.” _It really fucking hurt,_ is what he actually means to say, but he doesn't want Arthur to feel even worse.

Arthur nods, still not looking at him.

Merlin stares at him and wonders. It's too much to process, somehow: how they ended up here in the first place, and what happened between then and now.

His cheeks go pink as he remembers Arthur holding him down, gripping his wrists tightly and pinning them on the bed over Merlin's head with a smirk on his face, both of them flushed and panting from their tussle.

What had started as friendly banter, became a struggle on the bed which, predictably, Arthur won. Merlin wasn't competitive enough to turn it into something serious, this time, and didn't want to use magic, although he knew any attempt to overthrow Arthur was unlikely so succeed otherwise.

But then, instead of making him admit defeat, establishing dominance just for the sake of it as usual, Arthur suddenly started tickling him, eyes glittering with malicious intent, making Merlin shake helplessly, unable to suppress his giggles. Arthur gave up the attempt to retain his dignity and the pretence it was anything else but a way to express emotions he didn't know how to deal with otherwise, closing the distance between them until they were a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter, until tickling turned into grabbing turned into groping, and, finally, into stroking. Then suddenly they were kissing, deeply and too wetly, rolling around on Arthur's bed and urgently stripping off layers of clothing. They were both equally clumsy, equally unskilled, smashing noses and clacking teeth on occasion, panting and greedy and giddy with the feel of skin on skin and the sheer joy of being alive and there, in each other's arms.

And then, gasping, “Merlin, can I – will you let me – I want to, _please,_ ” between kisses and soft bites, and Merlin's whispered reply, “Yeah, all right, come on,” because he couldn't deny Arthur anything, not when he was pleading and kissing Merlin like he was going to die if he ever had to stop.

That was when things started to go pear-shaped, Merlin realises, he should have known it was too good to be true.

“I guess you'd better go now,” Arthur says, after a moment of silence, and stares down at his rumpled bedsheets as if they were terribly fascinating to look at, and Merlin's heart misses a beat or two.

Arthur suddenly lifts his gaze and looks Merlin straight in the eye. Merlin has seen this expression before, determination sharpening his features, emphasising the line of his jaw, making his chin look stubborn.

“We'll never talk of this again.”

“I don't know,” Merlin says, aiming for a light, teasing tone and failing woefully. It sounds pleading rather than cheeky. “Can't we go back to the kissing? I really liked that part.”

Arthur blinks, once, twice. Stares at him. Merlin smiles a little at his dumbfounded expression.

“You're not supposed to be so cocky,” Arthur mutters after a while. Merlin rolls his eyes at him.

“I'm still your master, Merlin.”

“And you're still the biggest prat I know,” Merlin replies. “Can we stop talking now, please, _sire_?”

Arthur blushes at that and - in an obvious attempt to distract Merlin - pulls him close. “Shut up.”

Merlin shuts up. Fortunately Arthur shuts up, too, so they spend the next hour kissing and making out like they haven't just thoroughly screwed up their very first attempt of fucking.

In the end, Merlin thinks, curling up on his side, with Arthur spooning up behind him and throwing a possessive arm around his waist, things worked out just fine, and he goes to sleep sated and covered in his come, and Arthur's.

~~~~~

Their second time, which takes place a few days later, turns out much more pleasant. It helps that they've both done some research. Merlin's been browsing Gaius' hidden stack of books, carefully eliminating any evidence afterwards, but he doesn't know where Arthur gained his new-found expertise. Arthur refuses to tell him, - blushing furiously, a sight to behold, and Merlin is a little disturbed to realise he finds it cute - but since Sir Leon has started throwing Merlin amused, knowing glances lately, he guesses he can figure out Arthur's sources on his own. Not that it really matters.

When, after quite a while of pushing fingers up Arthur's arse and spreading a mixture of oil and butter on Arthur's buttocks, his thighs, the sheets and pretty much everywhere else, Merlin finally slides into his body in a slow, smooth stroke, it feels like sharing and belonging more than taking or conquering. That's how it's meant to be, Merlin thinks, relaxing slowly and starting to just enjoy, the way they're moving together, effortless, pleasure spreading through his whole body in a warm, tingling wave.

Between him and Arthur, things have never been easy in the first place.

In the end, it's still worth it.


End file.
